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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959163">Canned Intentions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maudeymaybe/pseuds/maudeymaybe'>maudeymaybe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Meet-Cute, Neighbors, One Shot, Strangers to Lovers, oneshots</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:42:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maudeymaybe/pseuds/maudeymaybe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fresh off of what was quite possibly the most awkward meet-cute of all time, Spencer learns that the usual tenements of masculinity are not inherently necessary to attract a mate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spencer Reid &amp; Reader, Spencer Reid &amp; You, Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Canned Intentions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Repost from tumblr, things I own= nothing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow between the crime fighting, the murder stopping, and the overall world saving, Spencer Reid had forgotten that he was a loser. Not a loser in terms of professional success or achievements, as he had plenty of those. And he certainly wasn't a loser in terms of his intelligence, boasting an IQ of 187 and the ability to read twenty thousand words a minute. Rather, with all of the travelling that he did, he had somehow forgotten that he was the kind of guy who spent Saturday nights in his apartment alone, chronically incapable of getting a date. </p>
<p>It wasn't that Spencer didn't have friends, he did. Really great friends who would be there for him in any way that they knew how. The only problem was they were his friends from work. Though he had not been aware of it at the start of his time at the BAU, there was a difference between friends from work and work friends. Work friends were friends who you only entertained from nine to five, Monday to Friday. Then, on your off time, you were able to hang out with your other friends and your family. Unfortunately, Spencer was at a disadvantage in this regard because his "work friends" were also his only friends. Sure, they all spent time together outside of work, but they couldn't spend ALL of their time together (especially with what they did for a living). </p>
<p>Oftentimes, Spencer would hear his co-workers complain about how their line of work didn't allow for any semblance of a social life. However, as he settled into his quiet apartment to "enjoy" yet another quiet saturday alone, he couldn't help but think to himself that he would actually prefer it if his entire existence was completely devoted to jet setting and fighting crime. Letting his entire life be consumed by his job would at least distract him from his distinct lack of, well, a life. </p>
<p>He briefly considered calling one of his coworkers but soon thought better of it. Unlike him, his friends were pretty socially involved. They had a myriad of friends and family members to occupy their time. No doubt JJ was spending tonight with her boyfriend, Will. Hotch was probably at home with Jack. Prentiss was more than likely hanging around with whichever gun toting European man had caught her fancy as of late. And of course there was not a single doubt in Spencer's mind that Derek was spending tonight with some girl who would never again see him in the light of day. </p>
<p>In lieu of social gathering, Spencer decided to settle in for a little bit of light reading. So imagine his surprise when he heard the sound of a hesitant knock at his front door as he thumbed through War and Peace. </p>
<p>He got up and slowly walked to the door. The entire way there, he tried to think of who could possibly be on the other side. Spencer wasn't accustomed to surprise visitors (truthfully he wasn't very accustomed to any visitors at all). He briefly entertained the idea that it was the package service, delivering his new chess set but he quickly abandoned that idea when he remembered he had only placed the online order a few days ago. </p>
<p>He looked through the peephole and was confused to see a young woman on the other side of the door. This was extremely unprecedented because while Spencer was unaccustomed to having other people in his apartment, he was especially unaccustomed to having strange girls in his apartment. </p>
<p>He slowly opened the door, bracing himself for what was going to happen when he opened it. At twenty six years old, part of him had hoped that at this point he would be beyond hesitating to interact with people his own age. Despite it having occurred over twelve years ago, the bullying he sustained at the hands of his peers was ingrained in his mind. Talking to anyone around his age, especially pretty girls around his age, was a serious struggle. </p>
<p>Sucking it up, he looked at the girl on the other side of the door. She had (y/h/c) hair and big (y/e/c) eyes that stared up at him as he stepped into the door frame. He warily noticed the way her arms were hidden behind her back, holding something out of his view.</p>
<p>"Hello?" he asked, reproachfully.  </p>
<p>She blinked at his greeting and as a painfully long beat passed through the air, Spencer thought that she might turn around and walk away. Instead, she took in a shaky breath and looked him in the eye. </p>
<p>"I'm a feminist," she said simply as she stared up at him. </p>
<p>Spencer briefly considered spouting off the statistical likelihood of her being a feminist based on her perceived age range, racial group, and socioeconomic status. A few historical facts about the feminist movement flew through his mind, racing to the tip of his tongue to tell the stranger on his doorstep. Instead, he continued to stare at her in silence, relishing in the fact that in their forty five second interaction, it had been the pretty girl who had displayed the socially awkward behavior. </p>
<p>"I'm a feminist," she continued on, "And I don't believe that I should rely on men to do things for me when I could in theory learn how to do them myself. But sometimes things come up and I don't really have the skills to do them so I need help. And usually I wouldn't talk to random guys I don't know but I've seen you around because I live next door and I was wondering if you could open this." </p>
<p>She quickly brought her arms in front of her, presenting him with a jar filled with a thick red substance. Spencer regarded it carefully and realized that this was going to go one of two ways. He would either open the jar for the girl and she would thank him, returning back to her apartment to use the jar for whatever was inside of it. Or, he would stand in front of this pretty girl asking him for help and struggle to open the glass jar which would eventually end with her awkwardly taking it back to try and find someone who could open it while he returned inside his apartment to contemplate whether or not life was actually worth living. </p>
<p>Both options had inherent flaws and his mind raced with a million different possible excuses to explain why he couldn't possibly open this girl's jar. </p>
<p>Coming up empty, he took the jar from her, attempting to disguise the surprise he felt at the weight of it in his hands. He palmed the base tentatively, attempting to ignore the expectant stare of the girl in the hallway. He examined the contents of the jar, trying to discern what it was he was risking his manhood over exactly. It was no use, he couldn't tell what was inside it, but he knew for a fact he was going to have a hell of a time trying to release it. </p>
<p>Sighing, he put his hand over the top and gave it a cursory twist. As he suspected, the cap stayed firmly attached to the jar. He began to apply more pressure, grunting a little under the strain of his efforts.</p>
<p>And. It. Simply. Would. Not. Open. </p>
<p>They stood like that, Spencer letting out sounds of struggle and the girl watching with a pained expression, for a very uncomfortable minute and a half. </p>
<p>"If it's that stuck, I can just use something else," the girl said as she stepped closer to him as if to take the jar back. </p>
<p>"W-wait no, I think I've got it." </p>
<p>Spencer, in fact, did not got it. As if the Fates wanted to display just how much he did "not got it", three terrible things happened in near succession. </p>
<p>Terrible thing number one: As the girl approached him to take back her jar, Spencer's left arm came off the top it had been attempting to unscrew. His elbow made direct contact with the girl's face, sending her to her knees. </p>
<p>Terrible thing number two: In the absence of an opposing force, Spencer accidentally slammed the jar to the ground. The jar shattered on the ground, sending glass and the liquid (which he now identified as some sort of spicy smelling tomato sauce) everywhere. </p>
<p>Terrible thing number three: As the girl doubled over from Spencer's unintentional blow, her legs made direct contact with the shards of glass and she started screaming. Loudly. </p>
<p>Spencer froze.</p>
<p>It wasn't exactly a government secret that he was bad with women. Everyone knew that when it came to girls, Spencer Reid was in for an unfortunate time. But as he stood there, his neighbor on the ground at his feet, he realized he never thought it would ever be this unfortunate. </p>
<p>"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" he asked, crouching down to try and examine her. </p>
<p>"What the hell is wrong with you?" she yelled, staring down at her legs which were now bleeding profusely. </p>
<p>What the hell was wrong with me, Spencer thought to himself. </p>
<p>He tried to picture how this would look to anyone who happened to walk past them in the hallway. Here was this beautiful girl, screaming her head off as she sat in a pile of glass, blood, and tomato sauce as a lanky man attempted (to no avail) to console her. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry! I didn't realize it was going to do that. You need to go to a hospital." </p>
<p>She let out a muffled cry and threw her head back at the sky (probably cursing whatever God it was that had compelled her to knock on Spencer's door). </p>
<p>"I can't go to the hospital," she said, wincing as she tried to shift her weight on her legs. </p>
<p>He stared at her. Incredulously he said, "You need to go to a hospital. You're losing too much blood and if you let those wounds go untreated, you'll be at risk for all kinds of issues. Wounds that are slow to heal currently affect six and a half million people in the U.S. and the numbers will likely increase. If untreated, chronic wounds can lead to loss of limbs or even death. Not to mention all of the infections you could get like lockjaw, necrotizing fascitis, cellutis..."</p>
<p>"As terrifying and unnecessary as that medical lesson is," she said, cutting him off, "I still can't go to the hospital. I just moved here and I don't start my new job for a few weeks so my health insurance hasn't kicked in yet."</p>
<p>"You know, people without insurance coverage have worse access to care than people who are insured. One in five uninsured adults went without needed medical care due to cost. Studies repeatedly demonstrate that uninsured people are less likely than those with insurance to receive preventive care and services for major health conditions and chronic diseases. Pushing off procuring it only increases the likeliness of you falling ill or receiving negligent care." </p>
<p>She rolled her eyes and began to lay back in the hallway saying, "As helpful as that information is, I didn't exactly anticipate that the second I came to town people would start smashing my shit. And I definitely didn't anticipate that I would get assaulted by the spokesperson for the World Health Organization, so it didn't seem like a pressing matter."</p>
<p>Spencer warily watched her as she closed her eyes and laid out in the hallway outside of his apartment. He knew that he needed to get her medical attention and he especially knew that he needed to keep her from passing out in his apartment. </p>
<p>"Okay, okay, okay. Look, I'll take you to the hospital and I'll pay for whatever they do to you. Just keep your eyes open, okay? You can't go to sleep right now,” he said, attempting to lean over her body to wave his hand in front of her face. </p>
<p>"I'm going to lift you, okay?" </p>
<p>She only groaned in response. </p>
<p>Spencer sighed, trying not to think about all of the germs he was coming into contact with as he lifted her body from the ground. He winced as tiny shards of glass fell off her body as she rose from the floor. Outwardly, he attempted to remain calm as he walked her down to his car. Inwardly, he was filled with guilt and panic over what he had done to this girl. </p>
<p>He gingerly placed her in the passenger seat of his car, attempting to be as careful as possible with her limp body. </p>
<p>"There you go. It's all going to get better,” he whispered. </p>
<p>She stared at him through half lidded eyes, her (y/h/c) hair falling wildly around her shoulders. To his confusion and alarm, Spencer found himself staring right back into her eyes. </p>
<p>It was a weird time to notice how pretty she was, he knew that. But it didn't stop him from noting the loveliness of her features. The curve of her lips, her long eyelashes, the way her body reeled forward as she fell towards the dashboard... </p>
<p>Alarmed, Spencer snapped out of his haze and righted her body. Moving to the driver's seat, he started to drive towards the hospital. He tried not to think too hard about what had just happened. The girl in the passenger seat had only known him for two minutes before he effectively knocked her unconscious. He didn't even know her name. </p>
<p>Looking over at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw the way her head began to droop and realized he needed to work harder to keep her awake for the remainder of the drive. </p>
<p>"I'm so sorry again. We'll be at the hospital in a few more minutes. I really didn't mean to do that to you," he said, as he kept an eye on the road. </p>
<p>She mumbled something he didn't understand under her breath. </p>
<p>"What was that?" he asked, turning to look at her. </p>
<p>"I said, if I had known you were going to try to kill me, I would have just ordered a pizza." </p>
<p>He kind of chuckled at that, but he wasn't sure if she was actually joking. He made a mental note to get her some food in the near future to further make up for what had just happened.</p>
<p>"My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, just so you're aware of your attacker's identity," he said blithely. </p>
<p>"I know your name, Spencer," she replied from the passenger seat, her voice wavering. </p>
<p>Trying not to think too hard about what she meant by that as he pulled into the hospital, he looked over at her, "Well, what's your name?" </p>
<p>"(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)." </p>
<p>&lt;3</p>
<p>When you woke up in the hospital, you assumed that you were dreaming. </p>
<p>First of all, you couldn't think of any reason for you to be in a hospital. Nor could you think of anyone who would have brought you to the hospital because it sure as hell wasn't you. You hated hospitals, and would have done everything in your power to avoid going to one if given the option. Plus, you didn't have health insurance. </p>
<p>Second, cute neighbor boy was sitting in a chair a little ways away from your bed. He was staring down at his phone, oblivious to you watching him. Him, being Spencer Reid, who lived across the hall from your apartment. </p>
<p>But what was he doing here, you thought to yourself. </p>
<p>When you attempted to lift your body enough to perch yourself on your pillows, you felt a shooting pain in your leg. That pain must have fired some neurons in your brain or something because all of a sudden the events of the afternoon rushed back into your consciousness. </p>
<p>You let out a groan, remembering the embarrassing set of circumstances that had led to you ending up in the hospital bed. Spencer, still sitting at the foot of the bed, must have interpreted the noise you made as the groan of a person who had just regained consciousness (and not that of someone who was wondering if it was physically possible to make your body kill itself on command) because his attention snapped to your place against the pillows. </p>
<p>You smiled at him weakly and were just about to say something when a doctor in wrinkled scrubs walked into the room. </p>
<p>"Ah, Miss (L/N)! Glad to see that you're awake. You scared us there for a second. We had to go in and manually take out the shards of glass from your leg, you needed a couple of stitches so we went ahead and put those in while you were out. You passed out because of low blood sugar, so be sure to try and eat something after this," the doctor said as he looked at the chart on the end of the bed. </p>
<p>"You mean I can go home?" you asked him as you pushed yourself up further against the pillows. </p>
<p>The doctor chuckled at the urgency in your voice. </p>
<p>"Yes, you can go home. You'll need to keep those bruises clean and come back in here in a few weeks to get those stitches off but otherwise you're good to go. You will, however, need someone to monitor you for the next 24 hours to make sure the blow you took to the head doesn't have any disorienting effects, especially because you may find it hard to walk for a while," he handed you an antiseptic that you presumed was to clean your wounds as he spoke to you. </p>
<p>Looking over to Spencer he said, "And that's where you'll come in I assume! Make sure she eats something. You don't want your girlfriend passing out on you again."  </p>
<p>Your head whipped over to Spencer at the mention of the word 'girlfriend'. </p>
<p>The silliest part of this whole situation is that a few days ago, you would have loved to hear someone mistake you for Spencer Reid's girlfriend. In fact, it was your desire to be his girlfriend that got you into this situation in the first place. </p>
<p>Or maybe girlfriend was a strong word. Girlfriend implied a certain level of commitment that you weren't sure you were ready for (and that he definitely had not asked for). You were simply...interested in Spencer. </p>
<p>You had only moved to DC two months ago, staying with your ailing great aunt in her Foggy Bottom apartment. Your family had sent you here with the intention of looking after your great aunt as she approached the end of her life. What you had assumed that would entail on the journey over was that you would be cleaning out her apartment, helping her organize her will, listening to her last pearls of wisdom, etc. You know. Old people stuff. </p>
<p>What actually ended happening was a whole lot of canning. Like with jars. All day, every day, you helped your great aunt make sauces and preserve fruits so that you could put them in vacuum sealed containers for later consumption (it was unclear to you exactly who was supposed to be consuming them if your aunt was allegedly on her way out, but whatever). </p>
<p>Your job was usually to go to the store and pick up the items that were being canned and bring them back to the apartment. It was on one of those journeys that you saw Spencer for the first time. You were walking up the stairs, clutching a grocery bag of God-knows-what to your person when he came dashing down the hallway towards the elevator. You only caught a quick glimpse of him, but that quick glimpse was enough to set your heart on fire (okay maybe not on fire but up until this point you had been spending all of your time around old people and cans so a cute boy was a MAJOR development). </p>
<p>You had walked back into your apartment and as you began to unpack the groceries, you hounded your great aunt about the boy you had seen.  </p>
<p>"The only boy who would fit that description around here is Spencer Reid, across the hall. Sweet boy, very polite. He isn't here very often and he doesn't seem to take a lot of visitors. Anyway, be a dear and hand me those apricots," your aunt supplied. </p>
<p>From that day on, Spencer Reid became your own personal entertainment system. You stood in front of the door when you knew he was due to return from work, looking out the peephole in hopes of catching a glimpse at him. Gradually you began to put together a fuller profile of what his face looked like, and gosh he was gorgeous. So gorgeous that you felt like you couldn't possibly ever speak to him. Instead, you opted to creep up to the door every afternoon at 7:15 on the dot to catch a glimpse of your beautiful neighbor. Of course, sometimes he didn't show up for days at a time, which you had to assume had to do with whatever he did for work. Those days were the worst days because your little reprieve from what was shaping up to be a very dull relocation was non-existent. </p>
<p>It didn't stop your great aunt from shaking her head from her arm chair muttering about how you looked like a "damn fool" because you were too scared to talk to a boy who "didn't even weigh a buck fifty thrown in a bucket of water". You ignored her jeers and continued to thirst over your mysterious neighbor. </p>
<p>This went on for an entire month and the whole time Spencer had no idea who you were or that you were watching him. In fact you didn't muster up the courage to even talk to him until- </p>
<p>"(Y/N)? (Y/N)!"</p>
<p>You snapped out of your haze to see Spencer at the end of the bed, calling to you. Maybe there was something wrong with your head because from the look of it, the doctor had left the room unnoticed by you and Spencer had been saying your name for some time now. </p>
<p>"Oh, sorry. Wait- did he say girlfriend. I'm not sure I'm amnesic but I feel like I would remember if you…" </p>
<p>"No," he cut you off hurriedly, "I just had to tell them you were my girlfriend so that I could come back here to sit with you." </p>
<p>You cocked your head to the side, looking him over. </p>
<p>"So you lied to hospital personnel so that you could sit at the bedside of the girl you put in the hospital. You're not here to finish me off are you?" </p>
<p>Spencer blanched, looking at the floor and mumbling something.</p>
<p>"What was that," you asked, leaning forward on the bed. </p>
<p>He cleared his throat, "I said I was worried about you. I feel really bad about what happened." </p>
<p>You sighed, laying back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling. On one hand, he had quite literally put you in the hospital. On the other, he was still so hot. Which you totally realized should not be a plus in his column and maybe it's just the concussion talking but you still felt yourself starting to smile at your conversation. </p>
<p>God, you needed to make some friends. </p>
<p>"Look," you said, "How about you just drive me home and then we'll call it even, okay?"</p>
<p>Still staring at the floor, he gave a little nod and slowly walked to your bedside. He offered out his arms for you to climb into. Taking a risk, you allowed him to lift you up, yet again. </p>
<p>&lt;3</p>
<p>Which is how you found yourself back in your apartment with him by your side and a pizza in between you. </p>
<p>Spencer insisted on feeding you as another apology for what he had done. You tried to explain to him that it wasn't necessary because you weren't even planning on cooking with the jar of sauce he had dropped in the first place. He was having none of it, rattling off statistics about what would happen to you and your injuries if you became malnourished. </p>
<p>He became even more impassioned after he asked you who he should call to come stay with you and you explained to him that you didn't know anyone in the city. </p>
<p>"Well then I'll have to stay with you," he stated plainly. </p>
<p>"What?" you asked, "No, that's really not necessary. I'm fine."</p>
<p>He shook his head, determined. </p>
<p>"Besides," you continued, "I don't really know you. I'm not sure how safe it is that you're even in my apartment." </p>
<p>"It's totally safe, look," he smiled, lifting his jacket a little to reveal to you a gun resting at his side in a holster. </p>
<p>Recoiling, you stared at it stupidly. </p>
<p>"What is that?" </p>
<p>Oblivious, he let his jacket fall back down and looked at you, "It's for my job." </p>
<p>"W-what kind of doctor are you?" you asked, staring up at him. </p>
<p>"Oh! No, I'm not. I meant to show you the FBI holster not the...gun part. Because I work with the FBI. So I'm safe. Because I am in the FBI," he squeaked out to you. </p>
<p>"So you're not a doctor?" </p>
<p>"No! I mean, yes! Ugh, I am a doctor just not...that kind of doctor. And you need someone to stay with you for the next few hours at least."</p>
<p> "Alright." </p>
<p>He gave a short nod, although he seemed surprised that you agreed so easily. You were a bit surprised yourself but as you said earlier, it had been a long time since you had talked to anyone your age. </p>
<p>He walked to the other side of the couch and sat down, nudging the pizza box toward you, silently beckoning you to eat. You obliged, chewingly thoughtfully on the pizza as you tried not to stare at him. </p>
<p>Instead your eyes caught sight of your reflection in the mirror on the wall. You cringed at your swollen eyes and slightly bruised nose. Sure you had texted your best friend back home that you wanted your neighbor to "absolutely destroy you", but this wasn't exactly what you had in mind. </p>
<p>You shook your head and tried to erase any thoughts of the other kind of destroying, and looked over at Spencer. </p>
<p>"So, you're an FBI agent?" you asked him. </p>
<p>"Yeah, for the Behavioral Analysis Unit up in Quantico," he answered. </p>
<p>"Cool," you replied, "Have you ever killed someone?" </p>
<p>He rolled his eyes and raked his hand through his hair. </p>
<p>"What do you do, (Y/N)?" </p>
<p>You smiled and looked at him, "I'm a librarian." </p>
<p>"Oh," his eyes softened at your answer.</p>
<p>"What?" </p>
<p>"I was going to ask you a stereotypical question about your line of work but I can't think of a stereotype for a librarian." </p>
<p>You snorted, picking up a piece of pizza and half stuffing it in your mouth you said, "That's we’re all sexless old ladies named Martha." </p>
<p>He blushed, looking down at the ground again as he let out a small laugh (a small part of you would later fixate on this, hoping that the blush manifested itself from him thinking that you weren't so sexless). </p>
<p>"Well then, Mr. FBI agent. If you don't go around killing people all day, what do you do for the FBI?" </p>
<p>"I'm a profiler. I make analyses of people based on their behavior and help catch criminals that way."</p>
<p>You perked up at that, turning to face him on the couch, "Really? What can you tell about me?" </p>
<p> He smirked at your excitement. Emboldened by your interest, he surveyed his surroundings. </p>
<p>"This isn't your apartment," he started, "And if it is, you definitely didn't decorate it. You used to suck your thumb as a child, you haven't in years but in particularly stressful situations the thought does occur to you."</p>
<p>You flexed your hand and crossed your arms, embarrassed by his (accurate) observation. </p>
<p>"And based on the way you looked in the mirror when we came in and how you keep glancing at it, you're worried about how your bruises will impact your chances with men. Which I don't think you need to worry about because you're one of the prettiest girsl I've ever seen." </p>
<p>You stared at him, a slow smile spreading across your face. </p>
<p>"Dr. Reid, are you flirting with me?"     </p>
<p>"Maybe?" he asked, seeming just as unsure as you had been when you had asked him.</p>
<p>You laughed, and reached for the pizza box with a shrug. You didn't mind. </p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------------<br/>
When Spencer woke up, he was acutely aware of two things. </p>
<p>One, this wasn't his apartment. </p>
<p>Two, he had developed a massive crush on the girl on the other side of the couch, whose apartment this was (allegedly). </p>
<p>He glanced at his phone to check the time. Seeing that it was almost time for his weekly call with his mother, he quietly got up, doing his best not to wake the sleeping girl. </p>
<p>He was just about to leave when he saw a small desk by the door littered with paper. He briefly considered leaving her a note or his phone number, he even picked up the piece of paper at the top of the pile to write it down.</p>
<p>But then Spencer did what Spencer did best. He thought better of it. There was no way that spending the afternoon and night talking to some random guy meant anything to you, especially not a random guy who assaulted you. </p>
<p>Besides, the paper had writing on it. It appeared to be some sort of letter addressed to you. In a combination of respect for your privacy and giving up hope that it was possible that you were interested in him, Spencer dropped the letter. </p>
<p>That is until something at the bottom of it caught his eye. He picked it back up, reading the last line on the page </p>
<p>"P.S. Stop being such a pussyflounder and talk to Spencer Reid. If you want him to be your steady so bad that you'll wait around for him every damn day, you might as well go over and say hello. He would be lucky to have you. </p>
<p>With love that even death can not inhibit,</p>
<p>Your great aunt"</p>
<p>Spencer stared down at the letter in disbelief and then at where you laid on the couch with shock. He let out a small giggle at the way your hair flopped over your face, framing it imperfectly. </p>
<p>He grabbed a sticky note and jotted down his number. Taking the note and sticking it to the front door, he smiled to himself. </p>
<p>Maybe he wasn't such a loser after all.</p>
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